“Dunno.” Jax stretched his shoulders and winced. “They want to take over the three apartment buildings on the south side of Vanguard, they want soldiers, and they want autonomy.”
Raze lifted an eyebrow. “Autonomy so long as we provide food, medical supplies, and protection?”
Jax grimaced. “That seems to be the request.”
“If we refuse?” Tace asked.
“I think they’re going to leave,” Jax said.
“So let them leave.” Raze shook out his left arm, trying to banish the weak tingles still attacking him. “If they want to create their own society, then they can.”
“We’ve managed a head count, and twenty of the uninfected are children,” Jax murmured. “Mostly orphans.”
That changed things. “Tell anyone over the age of eighteen they can go, but the kids stay here. Or the kids without parents stay here,” Raze said. A fight was coming about that—he could feel it. He needed to get his strength back and soon.
Sami nodded. “How many adults, and do you have a list?”
“No list yet, but I’m guessing about eighty adults,” Jax said. “If I refuse to let them take the kids, there is going to be trouble.”
Tace breathed out. “If they stay, and if we provide shelter, what do they offer? How many of the eighty are providing any sort of service to Vanguard?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to sit down at the negotiation table with the reverend,” Jax muttered. “I don’t like kids being used as bartering items, and I really don’t like being held hostage by a prick seeking safety with my guns. But the kids matter, and we need to make sure everyone in his little flock is there willingly.”
“Wyatt would’ve known,” Sami said, her chest heaving as she spoke about a soldier they’d lost in battle recently.
“I know. Nobody has his connections throughout Vanguard,” Jax said wearily. “I think Dr. Wellington is our best chance for creating a good community and keeping everyone in the loop.”
“Then stop calling her Dr. Wellington,” Raze said softly.
“Excuse me?” Jax asked, the muscles flexing in his crossed arms.
Why the hell was he getting involved? Raze shook his head. “She’s fragile right now, and your using her title keeps her at a distance, when all she wants is to belong. You call your other lieutenants by their first names or nicknames. If you want a title for her, call her Doc.”
“You sure have her figured out,” Jax drawled.
“She’s not exactly a closed book,” Raze said. Why was he trying to smooth the path for Vinnie when he planned to kidnap her in two nights? Though if his plan succeeded, he’d have her right back in Vanguard within hours. “You have to make her feel at home before she can make others feel the same way.”
“Good point,” Jax said.
“She sure made you feel at home last night,” Tace murmured. His face turned red. “Shit. Sorry. Sometimes my mouth is faster than my brain.”
Raze stiffened. “Were we loud?”
Sami snorted. “Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby.”
“I did not say that,” Raze snapped.
“You groaned it.” Jax chuckled.
Raze’s neck heated and the fire spread to his face. “You guys are all assholes.” Hopefully they wouldn’t mess with Vinnie.
“I have more condoms in the infirmary,” Tace said, then lost his grin. “Although there’s bad news on the reproduction front. Two of our scouting teams branched out last night to refugee camps, and in both, several women had recently miscarried.”
Raze stilled. “Women who’d become pregnant after surviving Scorpius?”
“Three after, one before, and no live births,” Tace confirmed.
“Shit.” Jax scrubbed a hand down his face. “If this is true, then I do see the reverend’s need to separate his group from survivors. The uninfected might be humanity’s only chance to continue.”
“Everyone is gonna catch Scorpius at some point, so our better bet is to find a way to promote successful pregnancies,” Tace said. “The bacteria lives both in survivors and on surfaces, so someday there won’t be an uninfected person still alive.”
Jax nodded. “That’s what Lynne believes, too. She also thinks we’ll find answers at the Bunker, if that place really exists.”
“I found more references to it in the research materials from the dental lab,” Tace said. “Lynne and I are halfway through those documents.”
Sami nudged Tace with her hip. “I have training with new scouts in a little while, so if you wanna train and get your ass kicked again, we have to get started.” She pulled her arm across her chest in a classic stretch.
“Has Lynne trained lately?” Jax asked.
“I’m not a tattletale, Mercury,” Sami countered, loosening her other arm.
“That’s a no,” Jax said. “I want you to train Lynne and Vinnie every day until they can take care of themselves. The president is hunting them both, and at some point, we’re going to meet up with him again. You’re on hand-to-hand, and Raze is on weapons. Get them up to speed.”
“Roger that,” Sami said. “But you both need to speak with your women about it, because neither one of them wants to train. They’re both too involved in their jobs.”
“They’ll train,” Jax said grimly.
Raze nodded. “President Atherton is crazy but very, very smart. If he wants them—and we know he does—they need to learn to fight dirty.”
Like he did.
Chapter Seventeen
Controlling the behavior of others is a simple task, controlling their thoughts is an impossible one.
—Dr. Vinnie Wellington, Perceptions
Tace Justice followed Sami down the stairs to the main gym, trying not to notice how tight her ass looked in the yoga pants. They’d been training together for months, and lately something felt different.
Hell. He was different.
The second she reached the mat, she turned and swept his legs out from under him. He smacked the mats and rolled. Damn it.
She bounced back, her hair flying, her smile wide. “When are you going to be prepared?”
Tace circled her, looking for an opening. She’d been kicking his butt for eons, and he’d had enough. It was time to teach the little karate expert a lesson, but he wasn’t quite as fast as he wanted to be. Not yet. “You’re asking for it.” He dodged in with a right cross.
She slid back easily and kicked up, nailing him under the chin.
His head jerked back, and stars exploded behind his eyes. “Damn it, Sami,” he growled.
She chuckled.
He shook his head, trying to get his bearings. She moved, and he saw what she planned before she did it. As she struck with a straight on punch, he caught her fist in his hand. The sound of flesh on flesh echoed throughout the room.
Her pretty brown eyes widened, and she jerked free. A stream of irritated Spanish flowed from her full mouth.
He tried not to smile.
“You’re getting faster,” she murmured, dancing on the mats.
Faster, smarter, and stronger. “Hmmm,” he agreed, focusing on her feet. All of a sudden, he could read her body language better.
“What do you think of Raze?” she asked, using a roundhouse kick to nail his ribs.
Pain exploded across Tace’s torso. He hadn’t seen that one coming, now had he? “He’s fine.” Truthfully, Tace didn’t give a shit right now.
“I like him, but he has secrets.”
Heat filled Tace’s esophagus. “You like him?” Why would that bother Tace?
Sami rolled her eyes. “Not like him, like him. He’s good in a fight, and he’s helpful. Not sure about the secrets, though.”
“Look who’s talking.” Tace swept with his left leg and caught her ankle.
She went down, rolled, and kicked up to his knee.
It buckled, and he went down, landing hard.
She jumped and perched on his chest, pressing both knees into his shoulders. “Pinned
.”
Damn it. One of these days, he was going to teach her a lesson. Apparently this wasn’t the day. “If you need help training Lynne or Vinnie later, let me know.” Tace gave Sami the victory and tapped the mat.
She grinned and rolled off him. “I could use the help, to be honest. Neither one of them has a clue how to fight, and the president is definitely coming for them.” She held a hand out to help him up.
Tace accepted the hand. This time. “I want a rematch tomorrow,” he murmured.
She shrugged and headed for the doorway, her hips swaying. “Your funeral.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
President Bret Atherton finished his tenth set of pushups, moving with perfect precision and control. He’d always kept in shape, but since healing from the Scorpius bacterium, he’d become stronger and faster.
As had his enemies.
“Sir?” Vice President Lake strode into the makeshift gym, his jeans perfectly pressed. “I debriefed our scouts and have much to report.”
Why in the world did the man spend time pressing pants? When Bret had ordered his men to reactivate the steam generators used by the mansion owners before commercial power became available, he was more concerned with light and protection than fashion. He gracefully rose and wiped his face with a towel, his gaze going to stunning Lake Tahoe outside. “You were right about this place.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lake in May sparkled with a chill, and that was fine with Bret. The world had gone cold.
He turned and shucked his sweats and shirt for faded jeans and a black button-down shirt. While he sometimes still wore suits for occasions, he liked to be comfortable, so jeans were his go-to. After this meeting he’d take a long, hot shower. His enemies didn’t have heated showers, now did they?
Bret moved out of the gym, through a gathering room, and into what now served as a conference room. During the mansion’s heyday, the long, paneled space had been a dining room for the rich. The family who’d owned the mansion had eventually sold it to the California Park service, and then it had become a place for weddings, gatherings, and tourists.
With acreage, the lake, and many outbuildings, the mansion was the perfect place for his western headquarters. Plus, it was close to Vanguard territory, the Mercenaries, Twenty, two large farms, and the spot where he suspected the Bunker to be.
He had to find that place.
An aide—a pretty one with very long legs—handed him a ledger with perfect neat rows. “Sir.” She turned on a heel and clip-clopped in the opposite direction.
He continued past the conference room to his office, which had served as the first owner’s study. Dark paneling covered the walls and ceilings in intricate designs, while two full walls of windows opened to incredible views of the lake and surrounding trees. He sat in an antique leather chair and set his papers on the mahogany desk.
Lake sat across from him.
“How many scouts have returned?” Bret asked.
“Seven so far, sir.” Lake rested his wrists on the wooden arms of his guest chair, his posture loose, his feet flat on the floor.
Bret lifted an eyebrow. “From that position, how quickly can you be up and on the attack?”
“Seconds,” Lake said without a pause. “I won’t let anybody get to you. Ever.”
Not for the first time, Bret wondered if he could take Lake in a fight now that Scorpius had granted him new strength and speed. “Please report.”
Lake’s eyes darkened as if he followed Bret’s thoughts. “The first scout reported back from Twenty. They launched a retaliatory attack on the Vanguard headquarters, much as we suggested, but the attackers failed to return with intel.”
Irritation clawed up Bret’s esophagus. “We have no new intel?”
“No, sir.”
Damn it. “How am I going to get Lynne and Vivienne back without proper intel regarding Vanguard?” Those Twenty gang members were morons.
Frown lines marred Lake’s too-smooth face. “I understand you’ve always wanted Dr. Harmony back for personal reasons, but I thought you’d planned to kill Dr. Wellington anyway.”
Bret pressed his lips together. “Lynne is mine, and I need her expertise once we find the Bunker.” The woman had to pay for defying him first, though. “Dr. Wellington is psychic and much smarter than I gave her credit for. I believe she can help me to find the Bunker.” Plus, he had promised he’d kill her, and he always kept his promises. He’d held her captive for weeks, and she hadn’t come close to breaking. He had to admire that in a woman.
Lake nodded. “There’s more. I had a scout reach out to a survivor camp outside of Vegas, and Jax Mercury is circulating drawings of his brother, who’s missing.”
Bret paused. “Did you obtain a picture?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Have all of our resources looking for the man, too. We want to find him before Mercury does. Wouldn’t that be an excellent bargaining chip.”
Lake smiled. “Of course. Also, we had two scouts keeping close track of the Mercenaries, and I’m having them draw out their territory along the coastline. The Mercs have taken over the pier, several nurseries, and an agricultural research center at UC Santa Barbara.”
Bret leaned forward. “They have food.”
“Not only do they have food, but they have the means to grow more. The greenhouses in that region are phenomenal.” Lake eyed the snow still frosting part of the grounds outside. “Two other scouts found farms, and we’ll discuss them later, but you requested concrete news on the Mercs.”
“Yes. Vanguard is the enemy of the United States, and I need to know if the Mercs will join with us, or if they must be destroyed as well.” Bret flexed his left hand. He’d practiced boxing with Lake the night before, and bruises had formed.
“The Mercs are strong, and the compound is regulated with military precision. Our scouts captured one of the soldiers and, after some persuading, he talked. Apparently the Mercs have a mole in the Vanguard territory.”
Bret sat up. “Excuse me?”
“Yes.” Lake almost smiled. “Greyson Storm, the leader of the Mercs, has acquired the sister of a Vanguard elite soldier. Raze Shadow is his name.”
“Shadow.” Bret rubbed his chin. “He’s a soldier with Vanguard?”
Lake shook his head. “Shadow is posing as a Vanguard soldier, and he’s supposed to trade Dr. Wellington for his sister sometime later this week.”
“Where’s the sister being held?” Bret asked.
“Unknown at this point.”
“Plans?” Bret asked.
Lake cleared his throat. “I’ve sent a force of six men to Mercenary territory to discover the location of the woman. If there’s an easy grab, I told them to take her and come here.”
“She’ll probably help our men. She’s got to be in hell with the Mercs, no question.” Bret flipped the page of his notebook. “Continue your report.”
Maureen Shadow peered out at the moonlight glimmering on the too-calm Pacific ocean. Sure, waves rolled in, but after the continuous rain of the last month, the peacefulness seemed like a warning. Like a prelude to an explosion.
She sat on her bed in what was once a luxurious villa that probably had rented for twenty thousand dollars a week. Soothing beach colors decorated her plush room, from the expensive duvet cover to the landscapes covering the walls. Her sliding glass door was open, leading out to the spacious deck and down to the beach. The scents of salt and sand blew inside. A palmlike fan took up most of the ceiling, silent and unused.
She was using candles to light the room, although there were generators in case of emergency. Wasn’t the entire world one big emergency zone now?
Not too long ago, she would’ve been taking in a movie with a bunch of friends at such a time. Her friends were dead, and movies were gone. She rubbed her chest above her heart. Losing so many good people had hurt, and the pain had yet to go away. Maybe it never would.
A sharp rap on her door jerked her out of h
er head. “You still up?” a male voice called.
She eyed the door. Perhaps if she pretended to be asleep, he would leave her the hell alone. She just couldn’t get a take on him, and that meant he was beyond her experience. A bad guy or an evil one.
“I know you’re up. Open the door, or I will.” Greyson Storm didn’t bluff, and it wouldn’t take much for his size fourteen boot to kick open the door.
“It’s unlocked,” she snapped, her entire body going into overdrive. The knife she’d stolen from a soldier the day before lay heavy against her thigh. She’d have to strike fast and go for a vulnerable soft spot when she finally decided to use it. But she had yet to see either a vulnerable or a soft area to Greyson. No way would she win a fight with him, so she should probably get rid of the Mercenary leader and find somebody else to fight. A guard to the north. Her captors wouldn’t expect her to run to the north.
The door opened. “The cooks said you missed dinner earlier.” He stepped inside, the master of the castle, tall and broad. Dangerous.
She met his gaze, rethinking her plan. If she could incapacitate him, just for a couple of hours, she could possibly get free. Should she jump up and stab him? Or wait until he got closer? She’d never stabbed anybody before. Starting with the most dangerous man she’d ever met didn’t seem like a great idea, but she was rapidly running out of options. “What?” she asked when he continued to look at her.
“I asked if you’d eaten dinner,” he said.
“No. I’m not hungry.”
His eyes, an odd combination of gray and green, focused on her. “Are you ill?”
“No.”
His chin lifted. Once again, he hadn’t bothered to shave, and dark whiskers shadowed his chin. On Greyson, the look was edgy and masculine. “We’re not going through this again, are we?”
She rolled her eyes. Since her captivity, she’d tried everything from escaping to refusing to eat, and he’d thwarted her at every turn. “I’m just not hungry, Grey. Stop being a dick.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “Name-calling is a new one for you.”
So was attempted murder. Or rather murder, if she succeeded. “You are a dick, and I’m sick of playing nice.”
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